Face the Music

"If you could spot my being gay, how come Jeremy didn't in the ten years we were together?" I asked.

"Men!" Patricia made a dismissive gesture. "What do they know? Most of them can't see beyond the tips of their penises."

That made me laugh. "How is Jeremy?"

"He's fine---keep it quiet for now, Gudrun, but he's looking to sell the company so he can concentrate on his art. And he's found someone too, a Canadian girl called Emily who's working over here for an accountancy company. They're engaged."

"I think I might have met her," I told Patricia.

"Oh yes... Sorry, Gudrun, I forgot."

"That's all right," I smiled, "I'm pleased for Jeremy."

"There's something else you'd better know, Gudrun, I've left the church."

"You have? Why?"

"A few weeks ago in his sermon, your father launched into the most vicious diatribe against homosexuals." Patricia shook her head sadly. "It was one of the foulest sermons imaginable and he kept calling down hell-fire on homosexuals, lesbians in particular---now I know about you and Sarah, I reckon he was venting his spleen at you. I think he may be a little touched, Gudrun. His speech was more like one of Hitler's Nuremberg rants than a church sermon. I'm certain he lost a lot of his congregation that day---even the more intolerant ones were shaken by it. I go to our local Anglican church now. The vicar's a nice man, compassionate, tolerant, kind... and he welcomes gays..."

A shadow crossed Patricia's face, a shadow of doubt, and she looked away from my eyes for a moment before continuing: "There's another thing, Gudrun, about your parents. Your mother has left your father."

I felt a blow, as if someone had punched me in the chest. "She has? Why?"

Patricia Davenport's lips tightened in anger. "Adele doesn't want this put about so I'm telling you in confidence. Apparently your father's been beating and raping her for years, our holier-than-you minister is a wife-abuser. Of course he hits her where it doesn't show. But a few nights ago she'd had enough, got out of it and came to me. I advised her to go to the police but she's still the minister's wife, it's ingrained in her to remain loyal, or perhaps brainwashed might be more accurate. I've made sure she's in a safe place for the moment. I think now might be the right time for you to approach her, Gudrun."

I shook my head, reluctant at the idea.

"Gudrun, no matter what's happened in the past, she's still your mother and she needs someone to lean on."

"I don't think I'm that person," I said, "there's too much unhappy history there."

Sarah took my shoulders in a gentle clasp, turning me to look at her. "Mrs Davenport's right, Gudrun," she said, "Despite what's happened in the past, your mother is still your mother so at least give her a chance." She sighed and a momentary glimmer of pain showed in her face. "I told you that Carole's mother is bitterly homophobic and they were estranged right up to Carole's death. I don't know if they would ever have been reconciled and it's too late now to hope for that. It was one of life's 'if onlys'. Don't let sour memories get in your way, not now when you're finding happiness. Come on, you're strong enough to do this. And I'll be with you. You'll have all the love and support you need from me."

"Well... maybe... we'll see..."

"I'll let you know where she is, Gudrun. Don't leave it too long, please." Patricia stooped and gathered up Kim's leash. The smile returned to her face. "We must stay in touch. Despite the circumstances, you were a lovely daughter-in-law and I was always very fond of you. In fact, I'd like you and Sarah to come to dinner soon so give me a call tomorrow and we'll arrange it."

As Patricia strolled off, Sarah nodded towards her then leaned in and kissed my cheek. "You see, you've got family after all."

* * * * *

And over the following months my relationship with Sarah just got better and better. I came to love her deeply and she loved me. We had both found contentment and happiness. Somebody up there liked us.

Epilogue: Sarah

I was sitting in Holcombe Park, just enjoying the day. I wasn't alone, Kim was with me. Patricia Davenport was on holiday somewhere in Germany and she'd asked Gudrun and me to look after the dog. "I suppose I should ask Jeremy, him being my son," she'd told us, "but Kim adores you two and if he could choose for himself..." So there we were, honorary aunts to a cocker-spaniel.

Gudrun has met with her mother several times and both are working hard at a genuine reconciliation. There has been a little progress. It might take time but with good intent on both sides I think things will come right---they may never be the best of friends but they may achieve some degree of understanding. We'd also heard that Bjorn Nyström was returning to Sweden. It seems that word about his domestic violence had somehow become common knowledge and the church elders had advised him to resign before he was dismissed with ignominy.

Gudrun had a dental appointment and so I'd brought Kim to the local park for a good bit of exercise. And he'd just about worn me out playing chase and fetch and other things dogs love. In the end I had to slump onto a bench for a rest and Kim sat at my feet, leaning against my legs, big doggy grin on his face and several feet of tongue lolling from the side of his mouth. That was when a blue butterfly appeared, initially fluttering around Kim's head and muzzle.

Now here's the odd thing---dogs usually snap at flying insects that get close enough to annoy, but on this occasion Kim didn't snap. He closed his mouth and head cocked on one side watched the butterfly, apparently with great interest.

The butterfly moved away from Kim and settled on the bench's armrest nearest to me. I sat as still as possible, not wanting to scare it off. After a moment it rose and came to me, landing on my shoulder, so close to my cheek so that I could feel the velvety breath of its wings. Rising again, it settled this time on my hand where it stayed for several minutes, quite unlike the usual erratic meanderings of the species. Finally it took off, soaring upwards.

I realised that I'd been holding my breath. I watched the butterfly climbing higher and higher until it was out of sight and I was conscious of tears prickling my eyes. But they were tears of joy, of comfort. It felt like a blessing and the last of a burden lifted from my soul.

"Goodbye Carole," I whispered as the butterfly disappeared from view.

The End